Team-Building Exercise
by lynne-monstr
Summary: Prussia and Germany don't get along. Not for a long time. Strangely enough, a 3am fist fight may be just what they need to finally reconcile and mend their broken relationship. Genfic. De-anon from the kink meme.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: this chapter contains violence_.

* * *

Prussia shoved back from his desk and stood. His eyes burned with fatigue and his fingers itched, and though he could remember doing this type of work since the days when he'd been dragged from his horse and taught to read and write, he couldn't ever remember it being this fucking miserable.

The air stirred, disturbing the pile of papers neatly arranged at the edge of his desk. Before he could slap a hand down on the heap of printed out graphs and charts, they were in motion, crisp white sheets beating like wings as the small stack broke apart and scattered across the hardwood floor.

He bit back a groan and a curse, and settled for baring his teeth at the mess on the floor. Unlike a proper enemy, the paper didn't flinch, and for some reason he couldn't put his finger on, that pissed him off even more.

Great, he was ready to battle paper now. If that wasn't a sign he needed to get the hell out of here, Prussia didn't know what was.

It irked him to leave the mess, but he needed to get fresh air before he screamed. Fresh air and open space. Then he would come back, pick everything up, and sort the stupid, useless papers. And stare at the little columns of numbers until either his eyes started bleeding or he finished, whichever came first.

Decision made, he turned crisply on one heel and crossed the length of the room.

"Where are you going?"

The question rang out from the other end of their home office, where West was diligently merging their reports into a coherent whole that they would present at the next world meeting. His overstuffed leather chair swiveled, revealing eyes narrowed behind delicate frames and lips pressed together in a short line.

It put his back to the window and Prussia spared a moment to wonder how the blatant exposure didn't make his brother's skin crawl. Prussia's own desk was nestled off to the side in one of the room's shadowed corners, lit by a very old fashioned desk lamp that he could almost pretend was candlelight. The tight space wouldn't accommodate the type of monstrously large desk that West preferred, but Prussia liked that he could see the whole room when he turned around, with two sturdy walls at his back.

Prussia glanced over and flashed a smile full of teeth. "Out," he responded, voice clipped. "Need to stretch my legs. We've been sitting here for—" Prussia glanced at his wrist; it read three in the morning, "—shit, for way too long. Lay off."

Lips that were already set in a stern line turned downwards. "The floor is a mess."

"Yeah, I noticed."

West didn't relent. "And you haven't finished your work yet."

"You want a medal for those observations? That's why it's called a break. What are you, my fucking jailor?"

A muscle twitched at the back of West's jaw, and his hands dug into his slacks where they sat atop his thighs. "Your jailor?" After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet and approached Prussia with heavy, measured strides.

Prussia's own hands clenched as West breached his personal space to loom over him.

"Your jailor?" West repeated, as if tasting the words on his tongue. "You'd like that wouldn't you. It would give you an excuse to act like a petulant child." His eyes narrowed in familiar disdain.

Prussia wanted to punch the stupid expression right off his stupid face.

Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, a caricature of unimpressed. "Taking breaks is childish? Then maybe the kids have the right idea. Not all of us get off on paperwork, you know. Some of us need to break the monotony." He paused and tilted his head. "You used to love going outside to play."

For an instant, Prussia thought he saw a faded smile before West's expression snapped closed. He took off his reading glasses, tucking them into the top of the button-down shirt he was wearing. "To train, you mean. What you used to put me through couldn't be considered _playing_ by any definition."

"Whatever. You still liked it."

"I didn't know any better." West's eyes flicked sideways to Prussia's desk before continuing. "Enough of that. We're talking about _now_. What we're doing here is important. Just because it doesn't meet your idea of fun doesn't make it less so."

Prussia seethed. It wasn't about _fun_. It was about how no one listened anymore. Used to be, he could march into the private chambers of whoever was running the place, and they'd make time for him. They'd listen to him. Now it was all meetings and scheduled telephone calls and fucking power point and Prussia hated it.

He preferred to solve his problems by throwing an army at anything in his way, but he was in the minority on that these days. Stupid modern bureaucracies; Prussia was made for war, not paperwork. On top of that, it was a slap in the face how easily his brother had taken to the new system. Prussia was supposed to be the one who loved new things.

Feeling every bit his age, he sighed and said, "It's all useless shit anyway. Has been for decades but you're too blind to see it."

"That's not true. Just because we use words not weapons doesn't make it any less important."

Prussia fought the urge to roll his eyes. Stubbornness was more a way of life than a personality trait, but he knew West well enough to know when an argument wasn't going anywhere, and he didn't feel like engaging in the verbal equivalent of smashing his head repeatedly against a concrete wall.

He turned and walked away, but didn't get far before West's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't be too long. We need to work together if we're going to finish on time for the conference."

Prussia felt a throbbing in his hands, still thrust deep in his pockets, and realized they were balled so tight that his nails were digging into skin. He forced himself to breathe deeply, unballing his fists and letting them hang loosely at his sides. Slowly, he turned around to face his brother.

"Together?" Prussia let out a bark of laughter. "That's a joke. You lead the meetings. You represent us to the EU and the rest of them. You make all the final decisions! If that's your idea of a partnership, your head's been fucked over worse than I thought."

"If you actually did the work assigned to you, I wouldn't have to take it up and present it."

"Assigned! You arrogant little shit."

West straightened and fixed him with a stern look. It was the same holier-than-thou stare that used to rub Prussia the wrong way, even back in the days when West was a mop-headed little runt of a kid who barely reached his knees.

"I asked you to work on the areas that used to be yours. I thought that was what you wanted."

Prussia took a step forward. "What about Berlin? I know this city better than anyone."

"I have Berlin under control. Your assistance isn't necessary."

He'd grown used to the city's muted presence in his mind, but Prussia suddenly missed the way it used to course through him, leaving the hum of his people in its wake with every beat of his heart. Another step forward put him back within arm's reach. "I can still help."

A hint of exasperation broke through as West brought a hand up to rub at his temple. "I said it's taken care of. Focus on the east and let me do my work."

Considering the nickname he'd long since bestowed on his younger brother, it shouldn't have stung. But it did. It felt like being forgotten and it hurt and Prussia lashed out, the missing parts of himself fresh and raw in his mind.

"Don't you dare. Don't you _fucking_ dare! Berlin was mine first—my city and my capital and my home—and you don't get to pretend it never happened." Prussia blinked several times, fighting to push back the tide of rage and memories. It didn't work, and before he could give himself away he spun on his heel and marched from the room.

A hand caught his shoulder and whirled him around. The last threads of his control snapped, and Prussia did the first thing that came to mind.

He slammed his fist right into that stupid face.

A satisfying crunch echoed around the room, and Prussia could feel bone and cartilage give way under his hand. Time seemed to come to a screeching halt until there was nothing but the burning of his knuckles and his own panting breath roaring in his ears.

The dreamlike state broke as West stumbled backwards, hands flying to his nose, eyes wide and watering in what Prussia knew was more a physical reaction than a response to the pain itself. Blood seeped through his fingers, and for a moment, Prussia felt a little bit bad.

Then West launched himself forward, catching him off-guard and slamming an answering fist deep into his stomach.

Prussia folded in on himself, gasping and heaving. Not stopping to catch his breath, he clenched his eyes shut and threw himself forward.

The impacts came fast. His head into West's torso. The body-wide jolt as the nearby wall brought them both to a sudden stop. Prussia's head rang, but he shook if off. "Fuck," he muttered, getting his bearings. "Fuck, you little shit."

A knee raced towards his chest, and Prussia blocked with both hands and shoved. Dragging a shallow gasp of air back into his lungs, he ignored the clamors of his body, and slammed both fists into West's sides. Fuck, it felt good to hit something!

Hands tried to push him away, but Prussia ignored it, shoving his head harder into West's stomach to keep him pinned to the wall . A pained groan reached his ears and spurred him on, fists never relenting in their assault.

It all came to a crashing halt when something solid drove into his back, driving the air from his lungs.

Prussia hit the floor chest first, forehead and nose smacking into the ground. He blindly reached out with both hands, grabbing what had to be West's leg, and pulling.

It wasn't enough to knock his brother off balance – damn his stupid height and solid build—but Prussia instantly adapted. He tightened his grip and dragged his body forward. When he was close enough, he sank his teeth into the muscle of West's calf through his slacks.

A howl came from above him and Prussia grinned savagely through the mouthful of fabric, biting down again in the same spot as the initial scream petered out into smaller grunts of pain.

Motion flickered at the edge of his vision, and a foot buried itself in his side. Prussia's hands went slack without his permission. Before he could move, another savage blow rained down. His breath hitched, and through the roar in his ears and West's shouts above him, he thought he heard the cracking of ribs in time with a third kick at his undefended torso.

Shit, that was going to hurt later.

With effort, Prussia got his knees under him and levered himself up. He'd taken far worse on the battlefield; fighting though pain was no big deal. Another kick blurred towards him and without looking, he grabbed it and twisted. His other hand flew out in a punch straight at West's groin.

It was a dirty move, and worked exactly as intended. West let out a strangled gasp and froze in place.

Taking advantage of the lull, Prussia wrapped both arms around his brother's knees and launched himself backwards, rolling at the last moment so he wouldn't be crushed. He scrambled to his knees and straddled West's back.

West thrashed, throwing his head back in a poorly executed attempt at a headbutt.

Grabbing hold of the gelled blonde hair, Prussia slammed his face into the ground. With West's already broken nose, it had to hurt, but he didn't care. "Stop fucking fighting me!" he yelled.

West stopped moving, dazed, and Prussia used the precious moments until the next attack to unbuckle his own belt.

The hiss of leather racing across fabric set West struggling again, but it was too late. Prussia wrenched both his wrists behind him, and wrapped the belt around them several times before pulling it tight and fastening the buckle. There. It would be a lot harder for West to attack him without his hands.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" West shouted. But he didn't try to attack again, or make any useless attempts to get free, so Prussia knew he'd won this one. "Let me go," West tried again, breathing deeply in what had to be a combination of rage, pain, and exhaustion.

His voice was rough and a clear warning, which Prussia blithely ignored. "Me? You started it."

West squirmed beneath him, trying to twist around and glare at Prussia. It didn't work, but it did give Prussia a better view of his spectacularly bloodied nose.

"_I_ started it? I tried to stop you from storming out like a child. That is not starting it."

Prussia slapped his free hand down on the floor and twisted his fingers tighter into West's hair, pulling his head back until he could speak directly into his brother's ear.

"I'm not a child. Stop calling me that. Stop treating me like one. I fucking raised you. I raised you and I trained you and I created you, and all I get these days is ridicule." He paused. "I've always wondered. What did I do to lose your respect that badly?"

Beneath him, West startled, head straining to get enough distance between them to look him in the eye.

Prussia let him, curious to see which of his brother's many glares he was the recipient of this time. He was surprised to not find the expected furious glower, but instead a shuttered, unreadable expression.

"Well," Prussia demanded, impatient now. "Tell me!"

"Nothing." West's expression turned to stone. "You did nothing. You haven't changed since we met. I'm the one that grew up."

Prussia took a breath, but all he could muster was a sneer and a terse, "Well good for you. All grown up now."

"I—"

"Shut up," Prussia cut him off, voice turning cold. "You're always the one talking. You're always…" He trailed off as a wave of dizziness swept through him, the edges of his vision going blurry. Pushing past it, he started up again. "You're always the one—"

The world fell away.

A lance of fire shot through Prussia's chest as he crashed into the ground, jolting him back to awareness. It took him a moment to realize he'd slid off West's back and onto the floor. He tried to sit back up, and bit back a cry at the unexpected pain. He didn't try again. Without the adrenaline from the fight to keep him going, the extent of his injuries roared to life. His ribs were definitely cracked. Maybe more than that, he conceded, as his vision went from blurry to dark. Internal damage wasn't enough to kill a nation, even a former one, but it hurt like fuck and he hated being incapacitated.

A vile string of curses was on the tip of his tongue, but his brain had other ideas and what came out was, "I gave you everything, and you threw me away."

Fuck, that wasn't what he wanted to say. He didn't have much time to be mortified, and all remaining thought was blotted out by the nausea that clawed up his stomach and into his throat. Shit, West sure could kick.

Moving hurt, but Prussia managed to roll onto his less injured side where he stayed, curled up and struggling to breathe. Flicking his eyes over, he could barely make out the form of his brother sitting up in stiff, jerking motions. Even to Prussia's weak vision it was clear he hadn't been able to free his arms.

"This is pathetic," Prussia mumbled.

He was startled to get a response, the sardonic tones of, "In that, we're in agreement," floating to his ears.

The world slid out of focus, and when it came back, there was a hand reaching over his body and into his back pocket. Prussia jerked, trying and failing to roll away out of reach. He immediately wished he hadn't, fists clenched tight against the fresh wave of agony rolling through him at the movement.

"Stop moving, you idiot." West again, sitting with his back towards Prussia and at least that explained the hands.

Prussia didn't need to be told twice. He felt, rather than saw, the mobile phone plucked from his pocket; heard the sounds of a familiar number being dialed.

"What the fuck," he managed to get out. "We don't need a hospital."

"Shut up," West responded. "Yes we do. You can't even move, and I—" he squeezed his eyes shut while he took several measured breaths, "—I could use one too."

Prussia recognized that expression. It was the one West used when he didn't want anyone to know he was in pain. He didn't remember getting in a hit that would cause his brother to be that bad off. Maybe he shoved West against that wall harder than he'd thought.

That line of thinking was derailed by a familiar clench in Prussia's chest, one that had nothing to do with his injuries, and he was surprised to recognize the old worry that rose up in his mind. It was a feeling he'd thought long since buried.

"West, you okay?" he asked, the words slipping out unthinkingly.

Another controlled breath and a shaky, "Fine," was the answer, and Prussia knew enough to know that that didn't mean fine at all.

West would be okay, Prussia knew (it took more than a fist fight to kill a nation) but that didn't stop the twisting in his gut as he watched his brother lose the battle to stay upright.

Lying on the floor in front of Prussia, West looked younger, more like the little boy who used to idolize him than the hard-eyed adult he'd grown into, and Prussia's hand moved of its own volition, sweeping a stray piece of blonde hair from where it had fallen out of its severe style and into West's face.

West closed his eyes and turned his face away.

Prussia took the hint and let his hand drop to the floor.

Something was nagging at the back of his mind. Something that he should be doing. Clothing, pants, a belt, maybe? Something. But he was tired and fuzzy and didn't feel like thinking.

So he didn't, and his eyes slipped shut.


	2. Chapter 2

Prussia woke up feeling like he'd just been in a fight. A good one too, judging from the amount of pain running through his body, and the way his chest hurt every time he breathed. The tang of antiseptic air hit his nose, and he realized he was right.

"Ow," he said, eyes opening to see what his other senses had already confirmed.

He was sitting propped up in a bed that wasn't his own.

A hospital bed. Fuck, he hated hospitals. The smell of clean death that the modern world seemed to get off on; the parade of doctors and nurses always trying to tell him what to do as if he hadn't been fighting and getting injured for a millennia; the drugs that dulled his mind that they insisted on giving him no matter how much he cursed and protested. He hated it all and already didn't want to be here.

Then he noticed the heavy weight around his wrists.

He jerked in surprise, biting back a hiss as his ribs protested, and looked down. A set of heavy, padded restraints was locked around each of his wrists and secured to the bed railings on either side of him. The metal fastenings holding the cuffs closed were set too far inward for his fingers to reach.

Not that that stopped him from trying.

What the fuck was going on? The restraints looked hospital-issue, and could have been called comfortable in different circumstances, so whoever did this probably didn't have anything nasty planned for him. Probably.

Pulse pounding in his ears, Prussia searched for a way out, mind racing, meticulously scanning the room for anything he could use as a weapon once he was free.

A piercing alarm sounded to his right, startling him out of his thoughts.

It came from a large machine, connected by a thin length of wire to the tiny bit of plastic clamped to the tip of his right index finger. The display was filled with a jumble of numbers and graphs, but one line in particular stood out, large numbers in glaring red. A heart monitor, he realized.

Taking a series of deep breaths, Prussia struggled to calm his racing pulse and stop that infuriating noise before it brought anyone to check on him. He didn't want to deal with other people yet. It didn't work, and soon a nurse rushed into the room, a middle aged woman who clasped his shoulder and spoke words he couldn't hear over the wailing of the machine and the buzzing in his ears.

"Don't touch me!" Prussia jolted and pulled away as far as he was able, adding the rattle of the bedframe to the piercing noise ringing through the room. "Where am I? Get these fucking things off me!"

With the push of a button, the claxon was silenced. Prussia breathed easier, no longer feeling like his head was exploding from the inside.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse responded, the tones of a woman who was used to saying no and being listened to. "I can't do that."

Prussia snarled and leaned forward right into her face. To her credit, she didn't flinch. "I swear to fucking god, if you don't—"

The drab colored curtain to left was abruptly pulled back and Prussia whipped his head around.

"That's enough, Prussia."

It was West, his bed inclined into a seated position in a mirror of Prussia's. There was an enormous piece of gauze taped over his nose, and he was sporting two very impressive black eyes. A ridiculous hospital gown that probably left his ass hanging out in the back hung off his frame, and Prussia was drawing breath to taunt him about it when he looked down and realized he was wearing the exact same thing.

He also wasn't restrained, Prussia noticed, torn between relief at seeing his brother unharmed and fury at his own situation, which was quickly becoming clear.

West turned to the stoic-faced woman and smiled sheepishly in that way that reminded Prussia of a puppy who'd just pissed on the carpet and knew he'd done wrong. "Sorry for the trouble, ma'am. If you wouldn't mind leaving us alone for a moment…" West trailed off, the request obvious.

She tutted disapprovingly, but after double-checking on Prussia's condition, her gaze softened and she relented.

As soon as she was gone, Prussia exploded. "What the fuck is this about! This your idea of revenge?" He pulled on his wrists for emphasis.

"No," West answered, simply. "It wasn't even my idea. When the police came—" He cut himself off, head tilting to one side. "Speaking of which, you should consider adding an _In case of emergency_ number to your contacts list. It's a good practice to follow."

Prussia rolled his eyes. "Get to the point."

West continued as if the interruption had never happened. "The police found us on the floor. They saw me tied and assumed you were a danger."

What a load of bullshit. "And you just went along with it!"

For the first time, his brother looked frustrated. "What else was I supposed to do? I was barely awake myself, and I wasn't sure how you'd react when you woke up. You attacked me! So yes, I thought you were a danger, too. The safety of my citizens is my responsibility, even from you."

A sharp bark of laughter filled the room. "That's rich, coming from _you_."

West jerked as if struck, all expression draining from his face. It made the dark bruises under his eyes stand out in stark relief. Without a word, he turned away, and the curtain between them drew shut with an angry rattle.

Prussia was left alone, an uncomfortable lump expanding in his throat. He viciously shoved it down and focused on slipping his hands free of the cuffs.

Nothing he tried worked, and after exhausting every trick he knew, Prussia's patience snapped. "If I'm such a danger, why are we even in the same room?" The biting, sarcastic words felt good, and he wrapped himself in the feeling.

After a moment's hesitation, an answer came from beyond the curtain. "I insisted."

West's hand appeared at the edge of the cloth, hovering in place before sweeping the curtain aside. He dropped the hand into his lap and raised an eyebrow in Prussia's direction. "I do have some pull in this country, you know," he added.

Prussia couldn't tell if West was serious or if he was being ridiculed. Not that it mattered. Either way, he wanted to hit that smug, annoying face. Again. "Then use your stupid pull and take these off!" He rattled the bedframe.

"Oh, are you ready to be civil?"

Prussia leaned over the side railing until his right hand was pulled tight against the cuff. "Is that how things are going to be — I kiss your ass or else? Fuck you."

West rolled his eyes. "You're always so dramatic."

Resisting the urge to throttle him (not that it was an option right now) Prussia ground his teeth together, glaring at West as if he was looking down at him from a throne instead of tied to a bed. "After everything I did for you, this is what I get?"

West curled his lip and scoffed. It made the bandage on his nose crinkle. "Don't pretend to be a martyr. You didn't give me anything. Even our unification was a sham to increase your own power; don't think I'm not aware of that."

The accusation brought Prussia up short. He struggled upright from the reclined seated position. "A sham? What the fuck, West, I wanted you to be strong."

"But you wanted _you_ to be stronger," West shot back.

"Of course I did! Shit, that's how it worked back then, remember?" The question was rhetorical and he didn't wait for an answer. "You've really embraced the whole modern way of thinking, haven't you? Fucking compromise and holding hands." He shook his head, as if that could physically shake away the facts of modern life. "Yes, I wanted to be stronger than you, but that doesn't mean I didn't want you to be powerful, too! Why would I have wasted my time teaching you everything I knew if I didn't want you to be strong!"

He stabbed a finger in West's direction, as if that alone would stir the memory of days spent training together in the sun, and nights surrounded by books of every size and subject in the library. Of eating together and laughing together and fighting together.

At least, he tried to. The jerk of his hand coming up short followed by the rattle of the bedframe slammed him back to reality and he sneered in helpless frustration. With a deep breath of disgustingly antiseptic air, he shoved it aside and schooled his features in the way he would with any other occupying force. He'd spent enough time under the control of foreign powers to know when anger was a useful asset and when it wasn't.

Not waiting for West to catch up, he continued. "You fight, you grow, you get stronger. Lesson number one, sound familiar?" He paused before adding, "Just because I was selfish doesn't mean I didn't do it for you, too."

His words hung in the air, hovering in the oppressive silence.

When there was no response, Prussia huffed, slumping back against the bed. Either West would get it or he wouldn't; Prussia was through explaining himself.

"It always comes down to war with you, doesn't it," West said softly. "I suppose it's too much to ask that you did all that because you cared."

Prussia felt like he was in the room with a stranger. He turned away. "I'm done talking," he said, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him. "Either get these things off me or get out."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw West rummage under a stack of papers on the small table between their beds (and leave it to his brother to do work during a hospital stay). Apparently finding what he was looking for, he leaned across the open space, breath catching in what had to be serious pain as he strained to bridge the distance between them and press something small and cold into Prussia's palm.

Their hands barely touched when West retreated, sagging against the pillow and wheezing heavily.

Prussia studied the object in his hand.

It was a key. With a thick barrel and a slim yet wide grip. Simple enough that whatever lock it opened could be picked by a child.

What the fuck was he supposed to do with it? There was no lock on the restraints, only a buckle (Prussia had checked) and if this was some sort of joke, he wasn't amused. He started to tell West exactly where to shove his stupid key— and stopped— jaw clicking shut before he could embarrass himself. He was supposed to be the strategically minded one, here.

Once his brain kicked into gear, it didn't take long to figure it out.

He pulled his wrist inward as far as the restraints would let him. The strap fastening the cuff to the bed frame was held closed by a shiny silver lock. With a little twisting, he got the stupid thing open, and from there it was a simple matter to free his opposite wrist, then go back and take the left cuff off completely.

He ignored the urge to rub at his wrists and instead draped his arms over the bed railings to drum his fingers against the sides.

Only then did it hit him that his mind was clear, and he was in much more pain than usual for one of these places. And was thirstier than he'd been in decades. There was water on the table, and Prussia snatched at it gratefully, only getting a couple small sips down before his chest protested the movement.

The silent treatment was getting on his nerves, and Prussia broke it with the first thing that crossed his mind. "The docs must be losing their touch. I was expecting to be drugged up to my eyeballs."

"I didn't let them give you any more than the bare minimum." West looked in his direction, the hands in his lap fidgeting. "I know you don't like it."

With slow, deliberate movements—as much in concession to his injuries as to hide his puzzled reaction— Prussia set the mostly full glass back in its place on the table.

Having West look out for him like that was a kindness he hadn't expected , especially after that bullshit with the restraints, and he felt like he should say something in return. Like, _Sorry for kicking the shit out of you_, or whatever. Then again, West had got him pretty good too, so maybe an apology wasn't strictly necessary.

After considering and discarding several possibilities, he decided to say nothing about it at all, instead asking, "So, what's the damage?"

If West was startled by the change in topic, he hid it well. "Broken ribs and some internal bleeding. But nothing too serious."

"You talking about me or you?"

West gave an amused huff of laughter, the unexpected noise ringing loud in the otherwise empty room. It cut off with a pained hiss as he doubled over and clutched at his sides. "Both of us," he answered, face contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. "We're under observation, according to the doctors."

With the edge taken off his anger, it was easy to fall back into old habits. Prussia smiled, the same devil-may-care grin that he used whenever he had a great idea to share. "What kind of bullshit is that? It can't kill us. They patched us up, let's get out of here."

"I agree, but I told them we would stay."

"What?"

West sighed. "They're human, they don't understand how we work. It wasn't worth arguing over."

Prussia took another sip of the water and looked over at the darkened television mounted on the far wall, resigned to staying put for the time being. "Don't suppose this place has video games?"

The question was supposed to be rhetorical, the closest he was willing to come to giving in gracefully, and he almost jumped when West responded.

"I've arranged to have our files and two laptops brought over."

And that was so fucking typical. His little brother wouldn't know fun if it stripped naked, drank all his beer, and gave him a lap dance (the memory of a drunken West wearing one of Austria's old corsets as a hat begged to differ, but that was beside the point).

It was on the tip of Prussia's tongue to tell West exactly what he thought of that plan, when he stopped, his brother's words replaying in his head.

West had said _our files_. It was a dumb thing to get hung up on, but it was enough to stay the stinging remark he'd been prepared to let fly. "Um, yeah, that's good. I bet this place doesn't get the good channels anyway."

West aimed a fragile smile at him. "That's probably true."

* * *

An eternity later, West's secretary still hadn't arrived with their work, and Prussia wasn't sure how much more he could take. Usually, he loved being right. Loved it, reveled in it, delighted in throwing his rightness in the face of anyone who would listen.

Right now was _not_ one of those times.

There were no video games.

First, he tried the news. Which was great – for the first fifteen minutes. Then all the reports starting repeating themselves and Prussia almost threw one of the padded cuffs at the television. Then he tried the daytime dramas, but they were all episodes he'd seen before, and making up new dialogue in exaggerated high and low voices got old before the first commercial break.

Next was infomercials. The less said about that, the better.

Prussia stabbed at the power button, relieved when the television turned off with a hiss of static, and dropped the remote control at his hip.

Looking back, he blamed the boredom for what he said next.

"The answer's both." It came out louder than he intended and Prussia cleared his throat, trying to play it off.

West was busy scribbling notes on the scraps of paper he'd gotten from the hospital staff, but his head snapped up at the words. Setting the papers and pen aside, he looked at Prussia in confusion. "I didn't ask a question."

It was too late to back down, and Prussia swallowed the apprehension rising like bile in his throat. "Before. You wanted to know which I loved more: war or you."

West frowned, a barely there tightening of his lips. "That's not what I sa—"

"It's what you meant," Prussia cut him off. He may not have been eloquent or diplomatic or any of that bullshit, but he wasn't stupid.

There was no protest, and Prussia nodded to himself. "The answer is both," he repeated, hands grasping and twisting at the thin hospital blanket between his fingers. "You were created out of war, and it was fucking amazing. I loved it and I loved you, and I can't choose. Never could." Prussia took a deep breath, memories of better times filling his mind. "I know you want me to say the answer is you but I can't. I can't be who you want me to be."

There was nothing else to say, and he slumped back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling drained.

Beeps and whirs filled the room, but there was no answer. Dread pooled deep in Prussia's stomach, until he felt like he was going to be sick. Which was stupid, because West had always been an over-thinker, even as a little kid. Silence didn't necessarily mean rejection. Or disgust.

Prussia knew all that, but his mouth had other ideas. "If you're just going to tell me how much of a monster I am, save it. Nothing I haven't heard before."

It was the reason he was dissolved, after all. Too militant; too warlike; too arrogant. He'd heard it all.

"Don't play the self-pity card with me. It doesn't suit you." West sighed and shook his head. "In any case, I…"

Prussia clamped down on his anger and waited, but there was nothing. Fuck that. If his brother had something to say then he better damn well say it. "Well," he prompted.

West squared his shoulders as best he could from the seated position. "I had no intention of calling you that. I don't believe any of us have cause to be casting that particular stone." He paused. "And you're wrong. I didn't want to know which you liked more. I don't care about that. I just wanted to know about _me_."

A jumble of thoughts swirled through Prussia's mind, but they all got stuck in his throat. "Well, now you know," he said. And fuck, that was pathetic. But it was all he had.

It must have been enough, because the tension drained from West's face, and he looked at Prussia like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Now I know," he echoed.

Prussia felt something ease inside of him that he hadn't even realized was twisted in knots. Neither of them said anything else, but the silence was comfortable this time around.

Still, there was one question was nagging at the back of Prussia's mind. "Cracked ribs, huh? I didn't think I got you that hard."

"Yes, well, you have a very hard head, it appears," West replied, arms unconsciously wrapping around his middle. "Not a bad punch, either." He grimaced in remembrance, but there was no bite behind it.

Prussia let out a loud snort that felt like an explosion detonating in his chest. Trying not to breathe too deeply, he struggled to control the laughter that bubbled up on its heels, clutching high on his right side where it hurt the most. "Fuck that hurts! Don't make me laugh."

He'd expected disapproval, maybe an indulging little half-grin if West was feeling playful. What he wasn't expecting was the rumbling bellow of West's laughter to join in with his own. It was quickly followed by a muffled grunt as West clutched at his sides. "But I didn't say anything funny." The words were barely audible, heaved out between short breaths.

Their eyes locked and as if a dam had burst, they both dissolved into giggles like a pair of school kids. Giggles, and a load of pained hisses, grunts, and foul curses. At one point they'd almost calmed down, but then, at the exact same time, they winced in pain together and doubled over, which shouldn't have been funny. But it was, and the sheer absurdity set Prussia off again, West following not far behind.

Eventually, they got themselves under control, laughter tapering off into occasional snickers and wordless grins. They both slumped back in bed, exhausted. Prussia still felt like shit, but at the same time he felt better than he had in ages. It wasn't difficult to put the pieces together and figure out why.

He hadn't laughed like this with West in a very long time. And fuck, he missed it. His eyes followed his thoughts, leading him across the open space and to his brother. West was studying him right back, and Prussia knew without asking that they were thinking the same thing.

He breathed as deep as he dared until he was sure the laughter was locked away – his sore ribs couldn't take much more — and picked up the thread of their conversation. "You're not too bad in a brawl yourself. When did you learn to kick so damn hard!"

A spark lit up West's face. "Taught by the best, it seems."

Warmth flooded through Prussia, and he suddenly wished their beds weren't so far apart. His brother seemed much too far away for comfort.

There was nothing he could do about that, so he did the next best thing.

Hoping he was getting it right this time, Prussia extended his hand across the gap between them and gave a tentative smile.

Without a moment's hesitation, a warm smile broke over West's face and he reached out and clasped Prussia's hand in his own, winding their fingers together.

"Sorry I kicked the shit out of you," Prussia said. They didn't normally do apologies, but sometimes old habits were made to be broken.

West blinked several times. "Me too," he said. The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Apologies? Going soft in your old age?"

Prussia grinned widely and laughed until it hurt.

"Never."

They were still sitting like that, hands clasped tightly together, laughing and wincing and cursing their injuries, when the head doctor walked in, flanked by two police officers.

Prussia relaxed and closed his eyes, not letting go, and left it to West to do the explaining.


End file.
